


Sherlocked

by himitsutsubasa



Category: Grimm (TV), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Marathon, Television
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-01
Updated: 2013-04-01
Packaged: 2017-12-07 03:20:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/743600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/himitsutsubasa/pseuds/himitsutsubasa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nick has no knowledge of a certain fictional detective. Juliette treats a household pet with an interesting family. Monroe teaches Nick the meaning of good wine and detective awsomeness. </p><p>They all watch a television marathon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlocked

**Author's Note:**

> For the fans.

He was almost out of his car when his phone went off. Juliette. Nick sat back down in the seat and hit the "call" button.

"Hey." She sounded well, but not entirely cheerful.

"What's up?" He asked.

Her voice was apologetic over the line. "Well, I can't get home early tonight. Molly Hooper wants me to check up on her cat." Hooper sounded familiar.

"Oh, you mean the retired M.E.?"

"Yeah, I keep forgetting you might know her. But, she retired before you were on the force."

"Hank sings her praises like a broken record."He did an imitation of Hank's admittedly terrible singing. Juliette let out a musical laugh.

"Well, John has been settling in but, I swear, that dog has PTSD." It was Nick's turn to laugh.

"You're joking. A dog with PTSD?" he asked.

"He did two tours in Afghanistan and his previous owner was a medic."

"So he's a vet.? Salute him for me." Juliette laughed at his bad pun.

"I will. But, it's Sherlock I'm worried about. He isn't eating."

"Sherlock? Like, Sherlock Holmes?" It dawned on him. "You mean Dr. John Watson and Sherlock Holmes? Like the books and those movies?"

He could hear the smile in her words. "Yes, you forgot there's also a new TV series. The cat Sherlock's full registered name is Sherlock Holmes. John's previous owner was named Harry Watson so I suppose he is a Watson."

"Oh, wow, all we need is an… an…" His movie trivia failed him. Monroe would laugh in his face right now. Where was the trivia-loving blutbad when you needed him?

"Molly says her sister, Emma Hudson, owns a tom named Mycroft and a terrier named Lestrade."

Nick couldn't believe it. He recognized the name of the Scotland Yarder. "Oh, wow…"

"And Sebastian Moran, the intern, has a tom named Moriarty and queen named Irene. They're Sherlock and Mycroft's siblings."

"Really, the detective had siblings?"

"Nick, we have to have a Sherlock marathon soon. You don't know the characters and you're a detective." Nick almost made a comment about how they were fictional, and he was real, and the idea that he was a Grimm struck him. If fairy tales were real, then why not the Great Detective?

So, he said, "Okay I guess, but Holy Conan Doyle, those pets are fan's dream come true, huh?" The cast of Doyle's series was living in Portland as house pets. Monroe would be going into a full fan boy fit.

She must have read his mind. "Monroe would love it. He could watch with us too. I'll bet he has a great wine selection. I'll call him now." She continued as an idea struck her. "He's good with animals, right? He might know some herb to make Sherlock eat! I'll see you later, sweetie."

"Bye, honey." They fell into the couple nickname calling. A minute later, Nick hung up. The idea to take his Grimm notes struck his as he got out of his car. The evening air was temperate. Nick tried to remember where he stowed his light jackets last fall, before the Grimm life took over; it felt like a life time ago. He was glad the house was cool. He walked past the AC on his way to the kitchen and checked the temperature. It was the mid-seventies. Not bad.

Lasagna was always better the second day. He didn't care what Monroe and Juliette had to say about it. Nick plopped on the couch and turned on the TV. Lo and behold, one channel he flipped to was showing a BBC's SHERLOCK marathon. It wasn't the old one that he watched in cheap hotels, but the one that Juliette was talking about. He reached for his phone to tell her the stroke of luck and noticed something. His phone was gone.

Nick puttered around the house checking the kitchen and the hall. He even checked the ridiculous pineapple tray they used for keys. Juliette saw it at Color-Me-Mine and fell in love.

"The car." He almost smacked himself for not realizing. Sure enough, it was in his car. Back inside he texted Juliette a play by play.

Sherlock and John met at Bart's

Sherlock rattled off his fancy deductions.

They checked out the new flat.

Sherlock explained his deductions.

They looked at one of the pinkest crime scenes known to man.

They were going to dinner.

They started having an awkward conversation.

"Like the one Monroe and I had over dinner," Nick thought to himself.

His phone interrupted that train of thought. Monroe.

"Hey, Juliette called. She said you were failing the Sherlockian Exam." There was a puff. "You didn't know who Moriarty was? That is sad."

"Oh, yeah, failing is putting it mildly. Who is Irene anyway?" There was a splutter at the other end.

"We have to get you a trivia transfusion and fast."

"Well, I just finished eating and there is a Sherlock marathon on. You…"

"I finished dinner too. I'll be over in five."

"I…"

"I hope you like white wine. It's all I have on hand."

"You don't…"

"I'm already in my car."

"Wait…"

"I'm already on the road."

"Fine. I'll get the wine glasses." Monroe hung up. Nick shoved-down the remainder of the lasagna. The door bell rang. "Nick?" Monroe was at the door already. Nick opened it and was almost tackled by the excited blutbad.

"This is the inside of your house?" Monroe surveyed the hall. Nick realized despite how many times he had eaten dinner, slept on the couch, and imposed upon early mornings at Monroe's, Monroe had never been in his house.

"Yeah, come in." Monroe brandished the wine bottle. Even to an uncultured mind like Nick's, he knew it was going to be good.

"Yay!" Monroe was glued to the television immediately. "This is the part where Mycroft uses reverse psychology on John and John is a dear and…" They cut to commercial. "We can fill up the glasses then. Is Juliette going to join us?" Monroe set the wine down and pulled out a pocket knife with a cork screw. Nick wondered absent mindedly when Monroe started carrying that around.

"She has to tend to a cat."

"The one she called me about earlier? Hm. No wonder she sounded so rushed."

"Yeah, Sherlock hasn't been eating." Monroe stopped.

"Sherlock?"

"Yeah." The wine bottle popped open. Nick took the bottle and started pouring.

"Like…" Monroe glanced at the TV wide eyed.

"He lives with a dog named John. And has three siblings: Irene, Mycroft, and Moriarty. Mycroft lives with a terrier named Lestrade." Monroe looked even giddier with each sentence. "Didn't she tell you?" Frankly, it was distressing.

"No! So, that's what she wanted to tell me next time we met up."

"Sorry."

"No," Monroe smiled, "I'm calling her right now." The door bell rang. Nick opened it to see Juliette.

She gave him a quick kiss. "You won't believe what happened… Monroe!" Monroe appeared in the door way and Juliette was off to hug him.

"Why didn't you tell me about Sherlock, the cat?" He asked her sternly.

Juliette pinched his cheek. "I wanted to see your face when I told you." Nick stared on. No one ever pinched Monroe's cheeks ever. Ever. It was disturbing to see. "Is Rosalee here?"

"No. She is a die-hard Buffy addict."

"No Sherlock?" Juliette looked stricken.

"Won't even consider it." Mycroft, or at least Nick assumed it was Mycroft, chose that moment to appear onscreen. They settled down Monroe and Juliet taking glasses of wine. Nick grabbed another glass from the kitchen and poured himself a flute.

He asked, "Did you eat yet?" She nodded and told them about Emma's amazing meatloaf.

The next commercial let Nick in on a bit more than he bargained for.

"I love John. Martin is just so cute." Juliette whispered to Monroe. "Don't tell."

Monroe wrinkled his nose. "He is cute, but I like Benedict. He's more my type."

"What?" Juliette asked almost gagging on a sip.

"Sorry, I don't like blondes as much as brunettes." Nick's eyes widened in turn. Monroe realized exactly what he said and flushed.

"Well that is one thing to cross off my bucket list," Juliette giggled. "Meet a guy who thinks Benedict is sexy. And, I totally agree."

Nick decided that it would be best if he did not know too much about the celebrity crushes of the two school girls on his couch. "What happened to Sherlock, the cat?"

"Oh, that's right! Well, John, the dog, was nuzzling Sherlock. It was adorable. And after a few minutes John literally picked Sherlock up and carried him over to his food bowl. Then he sat behind Sherlock to make sure he ate. After that the cuddled up on the couch. Molly was so happy. I gave her the leaves anyway, though if John is like that, I'll doubt she'll need it."

"Molly?" Monroe was wide eyed.

"Yeah, Molly Hooper. She's an ex-M.E." Nick paused as the two erupted into a fan fest. Molly Hooper, of course.

Juliette started listing off all the other allusions in the small misfit family, Sebastian was apparently Emma's adopted son, go figure.

Monroe gasped at every artistic angle of Sherlock's face. Juliette practically jumped off the couch when John shot through two windows. Nick had to give Sherlock props. He was a good detective.

They eventually reached the end and Sherlock pointed a gun at a SEMTEX vest. Juliette was already asleep on Nick, who wondered if he could go to work tomorrow given the circumstances. Monroe was still alert and upbeat. Time to call it a night.

"Thanks. That was great." Nick showed Monroe to the door. In his bleary eyed haze, he reached out and patted Monroe's shoulder.

"No problem, Watson." Monroe looked shocked for a second before smiling and leaving in his beetle.

The next morning Nick found a text waiting him on his cell.

I like to think I'm Sherlock.


End file.
